eugenesis-text

They fell silent. Nightbeat stood as best he could and arched his back against the ceiling, trying to
force an opening.
‘Why are you on this mission, Nightbeat’
‘It seems I have a knack for temporal anomalies. My original mission was to collapse the wormhole,
but the invasion changed all that.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I know why you were chosen for this mission: you’re methodical, astute and
rational. And these are admirable qualities, but they make me wonder why you agreed to do something you
appear to find morally distasteful.’
Nightbeat sat down. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been grappling with both the ethical and causal aspects of my time-jump ever since you briefed
me outside the temple, and I know that you and I think along similar lines. I know you would have
pondered the implications of what is, essentially, an insanely dangerous stunt. So why did you do it,
Nightbeat What possible argument, what theory persuaded you to ignore your concerns’
Nightbeat knew that all the persuasion he needed was contained in a glass orb inside his chest. He
could not meet Prime’s gaze but he knew the expression (he was already getting used to it): kind yet
remote, open but scored with a thousand hidden concerns. He trusted Prime (everyone trusted Prime), but
did he trust him enough to explain himself – to quite literally open up to him
Without looking up, without tearing his eyes from the floor, he pulled the orb from his chest and
said, ‘This is my reason, Optimus. You’re looking at everything I am. Everything I’ve become.’
Suspended at the core of the glasseen crystal was a miniature helmet of pristine blue. Nightbeat’s
dampened headlights prismed across the cool transparency, slashing rainbows across its orbit. Optimus bent
closer and Nightbeat magnetically withdrew. He shielded the orb with a trembling hand and began to
explain.
‘27 years ago, interracial bioengineering peaked with the hybridisation of organic and metallic
material. Tiny bipedal creatures – Nebulans – were encased in armour that could transform them into the
head, engine or weapon of their Cybertronian host. They were also linked symbiotically, mentally adjoined
on a thought-by-thought level to increase strength, speed, firepower and reaction time. Two minds are
better than one, you could say.
‘Nebulan scientists called the whole process “binary bonding”; our techies called it “transgenic
splicing”. Not everyone was as dispassionate: Cybertronian protestors, Autobot and Decepticon alike,
claimed that the first batch of volunteers had tainted what became known as the Vorpool and compromised
our racial purity. While the binary-bonded volunteers called themselves “Headmasters” and
“Targetmasters” and “Powermasters”, the protestors used rather more damning sobriquets. They called
them bastards and Offshoots and Half-breeds. Particular spite was reserved for those who unconsciously
rejected the mind-meld and, as a result, became disfigured on a molecular level: they were the lowest of the
low. They were called Muties.’
Optimus said nothing. His eyes were closed in rapt interest. If he was shocked, appalled or angered by
these revelations, it did not show.
‘The process was seen an extreme reaction to a bizarre set of circumstances. But you know what they
say, Optimus – you can’t push the cork back in the bottle. The code had been cracked, the phrases coined,
and a new generation of Transformers had been created. These revitalised robots re-entered the war with
their new partners and, over the next few years, the technology was transferred from Nebulos to Cybertron,
culminating in a second batch. I was part of the second generation of Headmasters.’
‘But what about the protestors Weren’t you afraid of being ostracised’
‘I’m used to it – or at least I was in my youth.’
‘What do you mean’
‘Do you remember seeing me before 3 rd Cycle 270’
‘3 rd Cycle 270 But that was when — ah.’
‘Exactly. Anyway, I wasn’t a “pure” Headmaster. They partnered me with a quasi-autonomous
hominid robot, a mekanid, who could transform into a replica of my original head. There was no mindlink,
no shared consciousness: in Fixit’s words, he was simply a remote-controlled duomodal appendage
designed to generate confusion in battle.
‘We worked together until 1994, when I self-destructed. My brain module was shielded but
everything else was atomised, including my “partner”. When I was rebuilt, I handpicked another off-the-